The Colour Brown Nutria

By Doug Armstrong

So, to quote the younger generation, the stories “are what they are!” Accounts, tales, urban legends (some of which I observed or heard about or into which I have chosen to insert my own personae for dramatic effect), of what the ordinary men and women (all of whose names have been changed) who were conscripted or served willingly in the Brown Nutria Uniform of the South African Defence Force, got up to!

About the Author

Douglas (Doug) Armstrong was born in the small Free State mining town of Odendaalsrus, in the winter of 1960. His Father was an Engineer and his Mother a stay at home Mom. When he was three months old his parents were transferred to the Westonaria Gold Mine, near Carletonville. Doug was educated at St John’s College in Johannesburg, where he matriculated in 1977.
After school Doug was called up to Potchefstroom and the 3rd SA Infantry Battalion for his basic training and then applied for Officer training at the Infantry School in Oudtshoorn. Doug qualified as an instructor and held the rank of Corporal, after which he was transferred to 21 Battalion and then to Messina, as part of the Civic Affairs Unit, where he served out his two years of National Service. Doug’s citizen force posting was to the Transvaal Scottish, where he completed several camps.
Doug went on to study a BA (Social Science) at the University of the Witwatersrand and later received an MBL from the Unisa School of Business leadership. Doug has spent all his working life in the field of Human Resources and is now an HR Consultant and Business Coach. He is married to Vanessa, and they have a daughter Jessica and a son Michael.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Doug Armstrong
• Release date: Sep 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005093419

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Copyright © 2022 Doug Armstrong

First edition 2022

Published by Doug Armstrong at Smashwords

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or any information storage or retrieval system without permission from the copyright holder.

The Author has made every effort to trace and acknowledge sources/resources/individuals. In the event that any images/information have been incorrectly attributed or credited, the Author will be pleased to rectify these omissions at the earliest opportunity.

Published by Doug Armstrong using Reach Publishers’ services,

P O Box 1384, Wandsbeck, South Africa, 3631

Edited by Tony van der Watt for Reach Publishers

Cover designed by Reach Publishers

Website: www.reachpublishers.org

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Doug Armstrong

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Cover Illustration by Elanie Bieldt for Reach Publishers

Preface

At least three decades have passed since Conscription, or National Service as it was known, was officially phased out in South Africa. This means that at least two generations have grown up not having experienced what it was like to live under Apartheid. Many children like my own learn all about the political and social consequences and legacies of the past through school and the media, but despite this, my kids always wanted to know what it was like to have to go to the Army. Whenever I got together with my old mates, the children would always ask us to tell them the old War stories. I never really gave much thought to writing any of this down, until I saw the number of books being published about what has become known as the Border War. Many of these books are really well-researched accounts of the fighting and the battles which took place or are based on personal experiences of those in command or who served in particular units. Many books detail the exploits of elite and specialised units that took part in the Border War.

Despite this, not much seems to have been written about the average Joe or Jane who volunteered or were subject to the Call up or National Service system – young lads and some lasses who at the time wore the colour Brown Nutria. Brown Nutria was the colour of almost all uniform items. It appeared on the labels on the inside of all army issue clothing from shirts to underpants (affectionately known as Santa Marias, as they came in only two sizes – too small or extra outsize). Every item of clothing would say the same thing. The label on our old-fashioned Y-front underpants would read Pants under – colour: Brown nutria". We all wore the gear, except for underpants and socks as you could wear your own. We all did the time!

By telling these stories it is certainly not my intention to make light in any way of the suffering and harsh treatment and atrocities committed by both sides in the conflict, particularly the then South African Defence Force (SADF) or by the various other arms of the then security forces, which we know took place.

So, to quote the younger generation, the stories are what they are! Accounts, tales, urban legends (some of which I observed or heard about or into which I have chosen to insert my own personae for dramatic effect), of what the ordinary men and women (all of whose names have been changed) who were conscripted or served willingly in the Brown Nutria Uniform of the South African Defence Force, got up to!

Lastly and most importantly, I would urge you to always remember the sacrifices of the many brave men and women on both sides of this conflict who gave much, some with their lives, in the struggle for the Democracy we enjoy in South Africa today. And let us not forget those who still bear the scars of this War and Apartheid right up to the present day.

Acknowledgements

To my wife Vanessa for her love and support.

This book would never have been written had it not been for my daughter Jessica and my son Michael, who asked me what it was like to have to do National Service. I would like to think that it is because of my experiences in the Colour brown nutria that like many other South Africans we all wish our children to be brought up in the New South Africa and to be truly part of the Rainbow Nation.

Note to the reader

It was official South African defence force policy to conduct all business and training in both official languages. In theory, at any rate, all communication was to be done on a bilingual 50/50 basis, or one day english the next day afrikaans.

On our first day in the army, we were asked if there was anyone who did not understand afrikaans, as no one was brave enough to admit to not being able to speak afrikaans, it was taken as read that from then on, all training would go ahead in one language –

Afrikaans!

Hence the need for the in-text translations of many of the words and phrases used to tell these stories, as not all terminology lends itself to rephrasing or translation and the original language is sometimes required for full effect!

The General’s Daughter

Jonathan Robert Daily or JR as he was known by his friends, was an absolute fanatic when it came to surfing. He lived in a flat with his aged aunt in a block of flats on what was once known as Durban’s Golden Mile¹. The building was somewhat run-down but was in a prime location right on the beach. It was a one-bedroomed flat with a semi-circular corner balcony that had been converted into a bedroom for JR. This suited JR just fine as it gave him a 180-degree view of the beach and more importantly the surf and the weather up and down the coast.

JR’s aunt was well into her eighties, totally eccentric, and spent much of her time in front of the TV and cared little about JR’s progress at school or indeed whatever else he did. Her only requirement of JR was that he helped her with the evening meal as she suffered badly from arthritis in her hands and the maid left promptly at five o’clock. Dinner was always served at six o’clock and aunty always retired at seven to watch the TV news in her bedroom. She never emerged from her room again until six o’clock each morning when she would walk down to the beach, for her daily tai chi class.

JR took as much time off school as he could, particularly when the weather was good for surfing. In the evenings after seven, he was a free man and often spent his nights entertaining a string of surfer babes in his room, provided that they were agreeable to leaving before six in the morning ahead of aunty. Money was no object, as aunty had been left a small fortune by her late husband, and the allowance she paid JR was ample and completely elastic. Life was near perfect for JR, except for one small and very worrying detail: he had received his call-up papers for Military Service to the worst posting of all, Upington in the Northern Cape Province. What made matters worse was that even after having written to the Exemptions Board on several occasions, he had been unable to have his posting changed.

Upington had perhaps the worst reputation of any camp in the defence force as it was in the middle of nowhere and the weather was terrible. Young servicemen in those days had a rating system amongst themselves as to what the best postings were. The Navy was considered the best followed by the Air force, and only then came the Army. Then of all the Army postings, the Infantry was considered to be undoubtedly the worst, and Upington the most feared of all the Infantry camps. That is with the possible exception of the Infantry School at Oudtshoorn², but then Oudtshoorn was mostly reserved for officer training and like the parachute battalion in Bloemfontein, one had to apply and be selected to go there, so JR was destined to spend a lot of time in the desert, which as you can imagine did not appeal to him in the least.

JR had simply assumed that the Exemptions Board would have acquiesced to his request for a more acceptable billet, principally as a result of his application for reassignment. He had argued in his application that as a result of Aunty’s frailty she would need to have him close by. After all, the Army must see the sense and logic in sending him to the perfectly logical posting that would be ideal for all concerned, which in JR’s mind was Natal Command, situated on the beachfront in Durban no more than a 10-minute walk from the flat.

As it happened, JR only learned many years later that it was in fact Aunty who had let him down. Unbeknown to him, when the office of the Exemptions Board phoned to inquire as to the extent of Aunty’s dependence on JR. It had been Aunty who had told them that she would be absolutely fine without JR for a time and that she did not need a nurse and that in fact she would consider it an honour if her nephew was on the borders of the country defending her and all the other little old ladies everywhere in the country. She told the officer from the Exemptions Board that she would be just fine for two years while JR was away. Aunty had even made it worse for JR by adding to the nice man who had phoned her from the Exemptions Board that did they not know that she had survived without her dear departed husband Gerald while he fought the Germans in North Africa and Italy. She also told them that JR would probably want to get married once his army service was over and that he would leave her on her own anyway. Finally, she told the nice man that army life would do JR good and he might even learn to do his own washing and ironing.

The result of this was that the Army had taken the view that Private JR Daily was having them on and to make a point, as only they can, had turned down his request for a change of posting. So come January next year, Upington it would be!

As the end of the year